Posts Tagged ‘African-American culture’

Momma walked over to Sister Agnes, who was sitting with a worried expression on her face. “Mom Zora said she gonna be a little bit late,” she said, “Go ‘head and start service, she’ll be along in awhile.”

“Okay, baby,” Sister Agnes answered. She nodded at my Aunty Dee, who sat patiently at the piano. She found middle C, then, her E-flat chords. She grimaced a bit, there was always one or two keys that would stick on her. She jiggled the sticky key loose, satisfied, she struck up a tune:

“Made a vow to the Lawd…and I won’t go back!”

Made a vow to the Lawd…”

“And I won’t go back!” the congregation roared in answer.

“On my knees, I made a vow…!”

“And I won’t go back!”

The song, an old call-and-response number, was a COGIC classic….

I’m sorry, what you said?

COGIC? Church of God In Christ, an OG Black denomination, hardcore as they come. Born in the early 1900’s by Bishop Charles Harris Mason, who was put outta the Baptis’ Chu’ch after he came from the Azusa Street Revival speakin’ in tongues. Yeah, they put him out, said speakin’ in tongues was of the debbil. Well, they put him out, but he founded his own chu’ch, and been doin well ever since.

Like I say, COGIC was hard-core: no drinkin’ or smokin’, dippin’ nor cussin’. The women wore long dresses, and little to no makeup, cuz Jezebel the harlot wore heavy makeup an’ lean out the window to temp’ Jayhoo. Jayhoo looked up an’ saw her, and tole the yew-nocks to pitch Jezzie out. I don’t know fo’ sho’, but mebbe the yew-nocks was chasin’ after the same thing Jezebel was chasin’ after, but anyhow, they flex they arm, and out she fly. Splat! The dogs was happy, tho, all that Jezebel juice made for good lappin’. Look it up in the Bible, if you don’t believe me.

The congregation was up, clappin’ and singin’, you know, not High Chu’ch just yet, but well on the way. Besides, there was a bit o’ special sump’tin in the air, cuz it warn’t often a White man preach in Cane Creek COGIC, no sir.

Plus, er’body had heard ‘bout the goin’s-on in Mom Zora’s barn, and I mean er’body, so chu’ch was packed, wantin’ to see this White man, an’ his two hoes. Plus, they wanted to see what Mom Zora was gonna do ‘bout that White man eatin’ up all her food and doin’ the double-butt shuffle in her barn. I mean her rep’tation was at stake, aint no way she could let ol’ Thibodeaux get away with that, and then preach in her chu’ch? No, sir, God didn’t sleep, and Mom Zora was wide awake, layin’ dead onna side.

After while, Thibodeaux walk in, him and his two wimmen, they fannin’ an’ fussin’ over him, like he Elvis Pressley or the Big Bopper. He was wearin’ a white robe, with three racin’ stripes on his sleeve. Daddy said later that them stripes s’pozed to mean that Thibodeaux had gone to college and got his doctor degree, but all them stripes was good for was for Rev to wipe his azz wit, cuz they warn’t worth schit. That’s what Daddy said, and I agreed.

He sot down, in Elder Wimble’s seat, which was highly nervy of him. You don’t sit in no pastor’s seat, ‘lessen the pastor hisself invite you to. If the pastor warn’t there, you sat in the side chair, but Thibodeaux, he just plop his big rump in the big soft chair like it was his’n. Sister Agnes got up to correct him, but Momma was quicker, and went whisper somethin’ in her ear. Sister Agnes look surprised fo’ a moment, then she broke out in a big grin, and turn back around and commenced to pick up singin’ where she left off. Yes, Lawd, sump’tin was up, cuz Sister Agnes didn’t grin too often.

The two wimmen, they come down, and one of them go to where my Aunt

Dee was on the piano, and cross her arm, like she was waitin’ for Aunty Dee to get up. Dee pointed at herself, an’ that yaller mouf heifer nodded her head, and made a jerkin’ motion, like she was tellin’ Dee to hurry up. Dee humped her shoulders, and got up, which kinda put the kibosh on “Made A Vow.” Sister Agnes waited a moment, cause usually right here, she’d start the prayer.

Yaller Mouf looked at Sis Agnes, who close her eyes and started up Prayer Chant #1, “Yassss….Yasssssss…”

The congregation picked it up: “YASSSSSSS!…….YASSSSSS!

It’s the oldest meter in COGIC history, six bars in a slow blues rhythm. Bishop Mason said that the best thing you could tell the Lawd was “Yes” and “Thank you.” So, they made it their prayer meter, an’ they sprinkle it all through the service, kinda like black pepper.

Sister Agnes bein’ the prayer leader fo’ tonight, she picked the lyric, and the congregation repeated it for five bars. When she decided enuf was enuf, she’d broke off the meter, and begin to pray in earnest:

Spooky, aint it? Make you scared to go to sleep at night, first time you hear it. I won’t give you the whole thing, take too long. She pray real good, tho’, she’d get happy, right towards the middle, make a good whoop…

Huh?

What’s a whoop? Po’ thing, where you from? You must be one of them Pressbeeterians, don’t know what a whoop is. It’s kinda like a rockin’ beat you use, when you preachin’ or prayin’, almost like singing, but not quite. E’ry now an’ then, a White boy come along, tries preachin’ that style, but you needs rhythm to pull it off. Now, not all Negro preachers kin whoop neither, and long as they don’t try, it’s okay. Nothin worse than a Negro preacher whoop when he don’t know how.

Martin Luther King didn’t whoop, but he string them words together like a college boy, made it sound good. Now, you want to hear a good whoopin’ preacher? Reverend C.L. Franklin, or Leo Daniels, them’s the whoopers. Look ‘em up, you’ll see what I mean…anyway, hush, and let me talk!

She finished prayin’, and stood up. She got the offerin’ basket, and said, “Now we shall lift up our church offerin’. We gonna raise an offerin’ later for the preacher, but this offerin’ go to the chu’ch. She look aroun’, and er’body with good sense got the gis’ of what she was sayin’. I look to see how Ol’ Thib was takin’ it, but he sat there with his eyes closed.

Good.

Them 2 wimmen was Negroes, but I guess they been away from Negroes fo’ too long to know what was up.

Daddy leaned over to me an’ whispered, “Dat White boy aint gonna see a penny of dat collection, watch an’ see. Here, go put this in the basket,” and hand me a ten-spot.

Me, I was proud as punch, made sure everbody saw that ten, plus the one I added. Held it high, like I was offerin’ it to the Lawd. Elder Wimble taught us that.

Had a good bit of money in there, like I said, the place was packed, and most ‘a them folks had good sense to know where the first offerin’ was goin’.

When we finished puttin’, Sister Agnes blessed the offerin. She says, “We thanks you, Lawd, fo’ this offerin’, bless those who give, bless those who desire to give, but didn’t have it, bless them to have it next time. Let this offerin’ be use to the glory of God, in Jesus name, Amen!”

The congregation said “AMEN!” while Sister Agnes took her long pocketbook out of her bosom, and stuck the money in it, then put the pocketbook back in her bosom, and that was that. Daddy leaned over and said, “Lockdown in Fort Knox,” and started chuckling to hisself. Momma gave us the eye, but Daddy didn’t pay her no mind.

Sister Agnes struck up a song to open Testifyin’ Service, and I have to give Yallow-Mouf credit, she could play the piano pretty good. Sister Agnes was singin’ “Don’t Let the Debbil Ride,” a old standard. Sister Agnes had a reedy, kinda’ thin voice, but she was loud enuf to make up for it. She sang:

“Don’t….let the debbil ride….

I said, do-ooon’t……let the debbil ride…

Cuz if you let him ride….he gonna wanna drive…don’t let him ride…”

She open her mouf to sing the second verse, an’ lo an’ behol’, that rotten mouf woman took her song!

Let me ‘splain it to you, cuz you look like you don’t understand. Takin’ somebody’s song means you tellin’ the person you aint singin’ the song right, sit yo’ azz down, an’ let me sing it for you. It take nerve to take a song, an’ it’s a good way to make an enemy, specially somebody like Sister Agnes. She had a long memory, and once you made her schit-list, that was it. Keep an eye on yo’ back, ‘cause fo’ getting’ you, yo’ azz was got.

Rotten-Mouf took it, tho’, and I can’t lie, she had a real pretty voice, but you had to close yo’ eyes tight to enjoy it. Them teeth was just too rotten to look at. When she open her mouf wide to hit the high notes, you could see nothin’ but black. Look like she been chewin’ raisins. Nasty, jes’ nasty! Daddy whispered somethin’ to Momma, and she hit him on the arm with her fan, and bent over, jus’ a-laughin’. I knowed fo’sho’ something was up, then. Momma didn’t laugh in church, no sir.

Sister Agnes sat down, real mad. Well, that’s all she could do, after Rotten-Mouf took her song, either that, or look like a fool. Sister Agnes sot down, and fold her arms, as if to say “You conduct Testifyin’ Service, then.” So, Rotten-Mouf walked over an’ stood behin’ the offerin’ table an’ conduct. She sang a few verses of the song, then finished with:

“Doooo-n’t…let him sleep in yo’ bed…

I say, doooo-n’t…let him sleep in yo’ bed….

If he sleep in yo’ bed…..you’ll wake up dead…don’t let him riiiiide…”

I was puzzled. I leaned over, and asked Daddy, “How you wake up, if you dead?”

His shoulders shook a bit, then he said, “Hush, son, just sit there and enjoy the show.”

Yallow-Mouf an’ Rotten-Mouf sang a duet. You could tell they been singin’ together a long time, cuz they sing in harmony, not in unison, like most folks roun’ here do. They sang “His Eye Is On The Sparrow,” and they did a nice job, a couple of folks in the middle row even got happy.

They must-a been from outta town, cuz nobody in Cane Creek was gonna shout over nothin’ them two was gonna do. I don’t care if an angel swoop down ‘roun they head, they could forget it. Hoes is hoes, an’ after that stunt

I leaned to look at Momma, who had her arms folded, then it hit me again, Momma hadn’t gotten happy yet. Shoot, by now, Momma be done got on the floor and cut her a rug or two. Momma liked church, she said it was better than the club. That’s what she say, me, I didn’t know. But she’s sittin’ there with her arms folded, but she wasn’t mad, I could tell. Matter o’ fact, she looked like she was on the verge of bustin’ out in a laugh, but she was holdin’ it. I looked at her, and bless my soul, she wink at me! You don’t know Momma, but she don’t never wink! Somewhere in the Bible, in Proverbs, it talk about how a winkin’ eye aint no good. Well, sumpin was up, an’ Momma was in on it, that’s fo’ sho’…

They finished singin, and then they begin to sing Amazin’ Grace, an’ erybody know the preacher comin’ up next. Yallow Mouf introduced the preacher, real long and flowery, but I noticed that when she got to talkin’, Momma got up and tipped outside. A minute later, she came back in, and sat down with a smug look on her face. I leaned over to ask her ‘bout it, but Daddy hunch me with his elbow, so I sat back.

Thibodeaux got up, an’ commence to preachin’. Well, what pass fo’ preachin’ in some parts. He start off in the book of Genesis, how Adam an’ Eve was White people, an’ the Garden of Eden was in Switza’lan’ somewheres…I hope I don’t have to explain how much a’ humbug this was? Anyway, he says that Eve was tempted with the fruit, not by the debbil, but by her Negro servant. Now, that foolishness got on my nerve, but what really sot me on fire was a couple of Negroes in the back said “Amen!” Daddy said later some people never lef’ the cotton field. I believe he was right, fo’ sho’.

But, anyway, right in the middle of Rev’s sermon, the door creak open, an’ Muh walked in with somebody, which wasn’t too unusual in an’ of itself, cuz Muh was always bringin’ somebody to chu’ch. But what was strange

was who she had with her. Uncle Hime walked in, an’ my eyes popped open wide, I mean wide. Uncle Hime aint never come to chu’ch, not in my lifetime. I lean over, Momma an’ Daddy both fightin’ a grin. I lean over the other way, my brother an’ sister eyes popped open bigger than mine. Erybody looked as he walked in an’ sat down, right in front.

I gotta ‘splain this to you. Uncle Hime was Muh’s baby brother, ‘bout ten years or so. He was one of several town drunks in Cane Creek, an’ if you ask me, he was the best one of the bunch. He drank T&T White Port, and every so often, Muh would pay us to pick up the scores of bottles Uncle Hime had pitched behin’ the barn. He was harmless as they come, but he was allergic to bathin’ and shavin’, as well as changin’ clothes. He’d walk all over town, hummin’ and singin’ to hisself, and sometimes, he make his way outta town, and end up in Church Point or Jennings, somebody who knowed him would call Muh, an’ she’d get Uncle Pacon to go an’ pick him up.

Like I said, Uncle Hime was harmless as a fly, he jus’ looked ferocious. Momma had tole us one time that Uncle Hime was a prizefighter, back in the old days, an’ he fought undercard to Jack Johnson, once or twice. But he got hit a few times in the head, well, quite a few times in the head, you know how it was back then, warn’t no three-minute rounds, you fought ‘til somebody got knocked down, count less than ten, fight some ‘mo, ‘til somebody out cold. He drove 18-wheelers after that, drove all over the country, ‘til he too old. Muh took care of him, made sure he had sumpin t’eat an’ such. I got another story about him, maybe I’ll tell you that one next.

Well, he sot down on the front bench, an’ cross his legs, jus’ like a deacon. Muh sot next to him, reached up, took off his hat, and put it on the bench. Uncle Hime took his hat, and put it back on his head. Muh didn’t bother with it, there was more important things afoot. She cross her legs, so’s they look like a pair of bookends. Ol’ Thib just kept on a-preachin’, he never notice how the crowd shift when them two walked in. He say:

“…an the Lawd sent me here, to heal the sick, an’ to cast out debbils! Debbils, I say, who make you sick! Debbils, I say, who wreck yo’ home! Debbils, I said, debbils, who enter into men an’ turn em’ into wild beasts! The Lawd sent me here, to lay hands on the sick! The lame! The afflicted! The blind, the crippled! The Lawd sent me here, an’ brudders an’ sisters, I ain’t leavin’ until I done cast out every debbil in Cane Creek!”

That’s when Muh stood up. Thib was sweatin’ an’ spittin’ an’ wavin’ his hands, man, he was jus’ a-goin’! He was all excited when Muh stood up, I guess he thought she was gonna get everybody more whipped up than they was, but he was wrong. He says, “Testify, Mother! Tell us what the Lawd has done for you! Tell us, TELL US!!!”

Muh said, “You want me to tell er’body what the Lawd has done for me? He kept me–”

“He kept you, Mother?” Thibodeaux interrupted. She was calm, tho.

She said, “He kept me from shootin’ you an’ them two hoes you brung to my house. An’ as far as leavin, you an’ them two nasty wimmens gittin’ outta here tonight. An’ I don’t mean outta my house, I mean outta town!

Well, that’s when the diaper hit the fan. Thib turned red as a beet, an’ made a sign at them two wimmen, an’ they come up, lookin’ to pug it out. Rotten Mouf was the closest, an’ she made a step towards Muh. But, she forgot she had stolen Sister Agnes’ song, so Sister Agnes called it to her ‘collec’shun.

What she did? Jus’ grabbed her by the arm an’ whipped her in the pew, real hard. Knock the wind plum’ out ‘a her, then, jes’ in case she had a breff left, she sot on her! Oh, I forgot to tell you, Sister Agnes weigh nigh close to fo’ hunnert pounds. Yeah, now you get it. Rotten Mouf should’a never took Sister Agnes’ song, no sir.

Uncle Hime jump straight up. Somebody screamed, I guess they thought he was about to get saved or somethin’, I don’t know. He took his hat off, an’ throwed it on the pew, an spit in his hands…

Huh?

I aint lyin’, I’m tellin’ you what happened!

He spit in his hands, an’ rubbed ‘em together, then sot hisself like Jack Johnson, I mean he went way back! He rolled his head a couple of times to the left, then to the right again, then he shuffle his feet, and went skippin’ towards Muh.

“Where he at, Zora?” he asked.

Muh pointed at Thibodeaux. “Sic ‘im, Hime,” she said.

Well, it wasn’t pretty. Uncle Hime leaped up in the pulpit, just a bobbin’ an’ weavin’. Daddy say Hime fight just like Smokin’ Joe Frazier. Me, I say Sugar Ray, but that’s me.

It don’t matter none, cuz Thib was a preacher, not a fighter.

Not at all.

Hime bob an’ weave, while Thib tryin’ to cas’ the debbil outta him! What he should’a done was put up his hands an’ try to block some of them blows Hime was getting’ ready to throw on ‘im. Hime hit him with about five or six shots to the belly. Thib’s belly was kinda big, but Hime bend ‘im over pretty quick.

He bent over, an’ Hime stepped in for the kill. Hime put his lef’ hand on top of Thib’s head, an whipped his right hand roun’ an’ roun’.

Revund’ Thibodaux’s haid jerk back, an’ he fell in a heap! Muh rang the bell, an’ Uncle Hime came bobbin’ an’ weavin’ back to his seat, then sat down, crossed his legs, and put his hat back on his head.

Muh had said she could tolerate it ‘til the revival was over, but I warn’t sure. Rev would say stuff that I knew was raisin’ her hackles, and I was bracin’ myself for when she’d get mad enuf to blow. Not that I’da tried to stop her or nothin’, hell, I’da stole a coupla’ licks on him myself.

She held her tongue, tho’ but it was mighty, mighty close when he said, “You know, Sister Zora, it don’t make no sense for your pastor to only come twice a month. If he was a real pastor, he’d be here every Sunday, pastor y’all nigras right! You nigras needs somebody to look after y’all, make sure y’all do the right thing. Nigra left to hisself is just trouble lookin’ for a place to happen.”

She was cuttin’ okra when he said that, with her favorite okra knife, a nice 6-inch foldin’ blade with a buckhorn handle my Cousin Shug had give her from the Army, or so he told her. Shug aint never spent a day in Uncle Sam’s Army, but that’s a whole nother story.

Well when Rev. said that, I tense up, cuz I know Muh was gonna let go a’ that okra, and commence to cuttin’ her a slice ‘a redneck! Between him talkin’ bad about Elder Wimble, and Black folk in particular, he was skatin’ on thin ice, an’ bout to fall plum through. She stopped cuttin’, and she cocked her head a bit, and said, “You think so, Reverend?”

I had my eye on her knife, just a’waitin’ for her to slice ‘im up, but she just looked at ‘im, started whistlin’ real soft, an’ went back to cuttin’ okra, an’ let him continue talkin’.

Hmmm…..

When Muh whistled, things was real bad. Usually, when she worried, or grievin’, she’d pray. When she was happy, she’d sing. But whistle? The old people had a sayin’, Whistlin’ woman, or a crowin’ hen, aint no good to God nor men. Rev didn’t know it just yet, but he was messin’ with the wrong woman, trust me.

I tol’ Daddy about it, ‘cause I was mad. I was just learnin’ how to cuss, and I nearly let a few ripe ones out, but Momma was nearby, and she was already on edge because of Rev and all, and the last thing I needed was for her to let off a little steam on me.

Y’see, Momma’s cure for cussin’ depended on where in the house she heard you. If she was near the kitchen, red pepper; if she was near the bathroom, castor oil, so either way, you bridle your tongue around her.

Daddy says, “Son, man like that, that’s the way he think. You could be in a room with a hundred Black people, man like that, he walk in, he figger he in charge.”

“Don’t worry, son,” he chuckled, “I been knowin’ yo’ grandmother a mighty long time. She done seed ‘em come, an’ seed ‘em go. Mostly, they go. This one aint no different. The fun is gonna be how she get him to git up an’ go. She started whistlin’, you say?” He looked at me, and winked. “Son, I b’leve I’m goin’ to church this week.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Daddy only went to Momma’s church on special occasions, or when the Masons was on program. If Daddy was goin’ to this revival, I warn’t gonna miss it, no sir…

“Abbie, I’m not sho’ I kin takes much mo’ of this,” Muh was on the phone with Momma. “That White man eatin’ me outta house and home, and them ugly gals is just plain nasty! When they takes a bath….yes, you heard me, when they takes a bath….Abbie…. baby….you should see the rang they leave behind!”

“Stop laughing, Abbie, that aint funny! Hol’ on, I aint tole you the killin’ part yet…..I caint prove it, they moves too quick, when one leave out the bathroom, the other jumps right in, but I b’lieve… they uses the same water! Cuz ain’ no way a bathroom rang be that color behin’ one person usin’ it!”

“What you talkin’ bout? Yes, I said color! Abbie, I been on this earth over seb’nty years, an’ I aint never seed a rang that color! What color it be? Green! You heard me! G-r-e-e-n! What you mean, how I know? Cuz they leave it for me to clean! Yes, ma’am! I’s the little cullud gurl that they got to clean up behin’ ‘em, I s’poze. Towel layin’ on the floor….well, I’ll be dogged, it jus’ hit me….they usin’ the same towel! They must be, baby, unless they eatin’ the other ones they use? All right, then! Nasty, just nasty! Uh, huh…uh-huh…they huddles up in my barn durin’ the day, in between meal times….yes, baby, three meals a day, plus snacks in between!”

“Then they goes into the barn fo awhile, I lissen once, they be havin’ church up in there, so’s I leave ‘em alone, I be glad for the break! In between time, he send one of them ugly gals in here…my little bird Sweeney can’t stand ‘em, he fuss an’ squawl long as they in here, the only way to stop him is to cover his cage wit’ a towel, so’s he caint see ‘em! They come in here, says, ‘Rev need a glass ‘a milk,’ or ‘Rev need some crackers,’ or ‘Rev was wonderin’ do you have any muffins?’ all prim an’ proper, like it’s my job to make sho’ I got somethin sweet whenever he ask!”

She nodded her head a couple of times and kept talkin’, “Well, baby, I been puttin up wit’ dis since Sunday, an’ tonight is his day-bew, like that ugly gal with the rotten mouf like to say when she drankin’ coffee. Baby, ‘twix you an’ me and the tree, I done made a point to mark the coffee cup she use! Oh yes, I make sho she gits the same cup, an’ I promise you, when they leave, dat cup gonna fly daid in the trash can! Yellow teef is one thing, but a rotten mouf like that? I ain’t got enuf disinfect to clean no cup she done used. Minute she gone, I’m gonna take the hammer to it, ‘fo I pitch it, make sho’ nobody drink behin’ it, never, no mo’ in dis worl’! Stop laughin’ Abbie, that aint funny!”

Later that day, we kids was playin baseball out near the barn. Well, what we was really doin’ was tryin’ to get a lissen on what was goin’ on up in there with Rev an’ them two wimmen, but if we would’a just huddled around the barn, Muh would’a runned us off. It was me and my brother Jock, plus our cousins Bobby, Tojo, and Charlie, plus eight or nine of the neighborhood kids, Peanut an’ ‘nem, you know, the ones who lived on Garbage Alley, where the trashman made his round.

Anyway, we playin’ baseball, but we got our ear out on the barn. Sho, nuff, Rev and them wimmen havin’ church, singin’ and praisin’ the Lawd, carryin’ on, havin’ theyself a good time. They must’a been ‘Postollick or Cogic, cuz they cuttin’ up! Just three of ‘em, but they soun’ like twenny. They sang awhile, then they commence to prayin, an Lawd, did they make some noise!

I was playin’ first base, an Bobby was pitching to Jock. Jock hit a grounder to Peanut, and he threw it low, and ‘bout the time I scoop it up, Jock was safe. We listen in, and Rev an’ them wimmen just prayin’ up a storm! Jock grinned at me, and said, “You think we ought’a bust up in there?”

I said, “An’ do what once we get inside? Pray with ‘em?” His face fell, he hadn’t thought’a that. That’s how he was, he always come up with some devilment, but never think it through.

We kept on listening, and they was just a-prayin, you could hear them jus’ as clear as a bell, “Yes, Lawd! Thank ya, Jesus! Yaaaaasss! Praise the Lawd, Halleyloooyah, Halleyloooyah! Glory! Glooooraaaayyy!” I mean, just cuttin’ up! We just a listenin’ and laughin’ at ‘em, cuz we know they aint no good, but then, the sound kinda changed. That White man said, “Yes, sister, take it off! Take it all off for Jesus!”

We looked at each other, cuz we aint never heard nobody say that, not in no church we ever been to, an’ we been to plenty church, trust me. He says it again, “Take it off, Sister, take it off to Jesus!”

I said, “Take what off?”

Jock said, “Hush!” He waved Bobby over to take a lissen, an’ by the time he got there, she must’a had done took it off, cuz he says, “Yes, Lawd, nekkid I come into this worl’, an nekkid I shall leave! Praise the Lawd, Sister, we are nekkid befo’ the Lawd!” Then they started makin’ some funny noise for a minute, an’ Rev said, Yes, Sister! Yes, Lawd! Don’t stop, Sister! Praise the Lawd!”

Bobby said, “Ooo-wee! If that’s how they have church, I wanna join!”

I said, “What you mean?”

He waved me quiet. “If you got to ask, you too young to know,” and he started grinnin’. “Yeah, Ol Rev havin chu’ch up in there, heh, heh, heh! Praise de Lawd!”

The rest of them had crowded around by now, and Charlie said, “Wha—wha…what dey do-do-doin up in there?” He stammer a bit, you know.

Charlie’s eyes got big an’ roun’ like gingersnaps. He turned ‘round quick, and said, “I’m goin’ tell!” He ran off before we could stop him.

A minute later, Muh strode grimly towards us, Charlie in one hand, Matilda in the other. We stepped back from the door, as she asked, “What in the worl’ goin’ on here?” Bobby pointed to the barn. “Rev and them wimmen havin’ chu’ch,” he answered with a straight face.

She raised her shotgun, then looked around. Charlie put his hands to his ears, Matilda being the next best thing to a cannon. Muh looked around, hesitated a bit, then lowered Matilda to half-mast. “Charlie, Jock, and Buck, y’all go in the house. The rest of y’all, go home! Bobby, when you get home, tell Pacon to come pick me up, y’hear? “

“Nasty, jes’ plain nasty! Yes, Abbie, they still in there! No, I didn’t bus’ up in there, them chirren was right there wit’ me! Oh, I had a mind to let a little double-ought fly around in there, but I’da have to pay to get the roof fixed….oh, but wait, baby, jes’ wait fo’ tonight! I’se gonna fix Revum’ Thibodeaux’s lil’ red wagon….Stop laughin’, Abbie, that aint funny!”

Hey, the heifer should’a left the poor schlub alone. Now she’s just alone.

Anyway, I’m going to post a few of my short stories of my childhood here, for your approval.

No, I don’t mean I want you to approve of my childhood, you dolt, I want you to….

Oh, I see. Trying to be funny, eh?

Sigh.

In the future, kindly leave that to moi, sil-vous plait?

What does that mean?

Go ask your mother.

(See, in the Black community, when you White people work our nerves, we make a reference to your mother. As in: “Yo mama’s so stupid that she thought that babies came from the infantry!”)

Anyway, here goes…

When I was a boy, I spent a lot of time in my grandmother’s house. She lived on the corner lot, Hoffpauir and Jacob Street. She was about 2 blocks from the railroad tracks and the rice mill, so we were raised with the sounds of trains passing and the mill in operation, ‘specially in the fall, when the fall rice was harvested. Every mornin’, the mill whistle would blow at 6 o’clock, sharp. Sounded like a foghorn, mournful, deep and slow. Just like an alarm clock to us kids, you couldn’t stay in bed after that horn blew.

Old folks didn’t need that mill whistle to get up early, no sir. My grandmother, her name was Zora, but nobody called her that except for the White woman she worked for, Miz Savelle. We called her Mother, or Muh for short. People in town called her Mom Zora, ‘cause she was a church mother, but I’ll tell you about that later. Muh woke up early, like old folks did back then. 4:30, 5 o’clock, she was up, less’en she was sick or something. Time us kids woke up, she had already had company come by for coffee, usually my Uncle Scott, but he drank tea. Lipton, boilin’ hot, with a little lemon. Everybody else, tho, was coffee. Mello Joy, the old kind, brewed strong enough to stain your cup.

Muh was one of those wimmen people come to with they problems, what they call counselin’, nowadays. She was a church woman, and I guess if she done now what she did back then, she’d be called a pastoral counselor. People like to come to her and talk, get help with stuff goin’ on in their life. She’d give them good advice, straight out the Bible, she could quote it word for word. That’s how she lived, right out the Bible. She was a widow woman, my grandfather died when my momma was 12 or so, with 6 daughters and a son to raise. Raised ‘em, too, without a man in the house.

She was strict on ‘em, had to be. 6 daughters? Man, you best run a tight ship with six daughters, or you have hell on your hands. Momma would tell us stories about how Muh would make ‘em wash dishes, and then come behind ‘em and check to see if they cleaned ‘em right. She’d say, “Don’t make no sense to half-do no dishes. Wash ‘em right the first time, you don’t have to back-track and do ‘em agin’.” Momma said if Muh found one dish half-washed, you had to was the whole sink o’ dishes again. “Washin’ dishes aint good to eat, so you did it right the first time,” she’d tell us.

She ran a tight ship, Momma said. They couldn’t “go out” to the local dances until they turned 16, then my Uncle Alfred had to chaperone. My Uncle Alfred, now that man’s something else, but I don’t have time to tell you ‘bout him today. Momma told us, one time Ray Charles was comin’ to town. Yep, Ray Charles used to play Cane Creek. You see, there was way back what they called the “chitlin’ circuit’, where Black musicians would tour the Deep South. All the big names would play the chitlin’ circuit back then, and there was a lot of little towns like Cane Creek that had a nightclub the big boys would play in. B.B. King, Ray Charles, Fats Domino, Muddy Waters, Lazy Lester, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Big Momma Thornton, you name ‘em, all the big names played in Cane Creek, usually in the Blue Diamond or the Stork Club, place be packed!

Well, anyway, Momma was 15, hadn’t turned 16 yet, but she was close to it. Ray Charles was comin’ to the Blue that Friday night, and she wanted to go. See, she was the second youngest, so my older aunties was goin’ to see Ray with Uncle Alfred, and since she was close to turnin’ 16, well, she made her plans to go. She knew the drill: you wasn’t goin’ nowhere before you did your chores, dishes washed, floor swept and mopped, furniture dusted, clothes washed and hung out on the line, brought back in when they was dried, folded and put up in they place. Whatever your job was, you got it done befo’ you stepped outside. Aint no need of arguin’ about it, that’s just the way it was.

So Momma did her dishes, and started getting’ ready, ironin’ her clothes and stuff. She got dressed with the others, and made up her face, I mean, she was ready to step out! Time to go, they lined up near the door for inspection, Muh looked ‘em over, checkin’ hemlines and necklines.

Huh?

What do I mean, “checkin’ ‘em over”? You wasn’t leavin’ Mom Zora’s house with your “neckidness out,” like she called it! No, sir!

She checked them over, Momma last in line. Muh gave her usual final instructions before they left out, “Now, be yourself!” that was one of her favorite sayings, “Be yourself! Just ‘cause somebody jump the ditch, that don’ mean you got to jump, too!”

Momma turned to the door to walk out, and Muh said, “Hold on, baby. Where you goin?”

Momma said, “To the dance. Ray Charles is playin’.”

Muh answered, “I don’t care who playin’ in the club. Where you think you is goin’? How old is you?”

“Fifteen,” Momma answered miserably.

“Then lock the door behin’ ‘em, and stay in this here house. You know you don’t go out ‘til you hit sixteen.”

Momma begin to plead her case, while my aunties waited to see what the decision was. Momma went on for a minute, how she was grown, and ever body else could go out, and why couldn’t she, and then Muh put down her sewing and looked at my aunties. “Y’all goin’ out?” she asked.

“Yes, Ma’am,” they answered.

“Then, y’all best git goin’ then, befo’ it be too late. Abbie, shut the door behind ‘em,” and picked up her sewing.

Well, that was that. They knew better than tryin’ to argue with her, fool around and nobody was gonna see Ray, not tonight, anyways.

“Bye, Abbie,” Aunt Marie said, as they went outside. Momma said she cried like a baby for a good while, then Muh said, “Now, that’s enough o’ that. You need me to get my flyswat’?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Alright, then, stop all that noise. When you hit sixteen, you can go out.”

I know that seem hard, but in those days, rules was rules. The Bible says, “Train up a child in the way it should go, and when he is old, he shall not depart from it.” That’s in Proverbs, the 22nd chapter. It don’t mean that chirren won’t do bad, but it mean that good home-trainin’ stick to ‘em, and they never forget what’s right an’ wrong, even if they don’t do right.

Momma ‘splained all that to us, and we understood it. But every now and then “Georgia On My Mind” would play on the radio, and Momma’s shoulders would slump a little bit, and a minute later, she’d have a Kleenex in her hand. “Something in my eye,” she would say. It was okay, though, ‘cause by the time supper came around, she’d bake a chocolate cake.

My brother found out that you could call the radio station and request a song. One week, we had chocolate cake three times, ‘fo she caught on…

“Rats!” I thought, inwardly grimacing. I had forgotten Man Rule #17c—Never Refute Female Criticism of Another Female. A Rookie Husband might have had to fall on his sword, but, of course, not moi. In my book, Keeping the Females Who Infest Your House In Check, page 53 clearly states:

…in cases when Man inadvertently refutes Female criticism of another Female, crisis can easily be prevented by evoking in the Female the basic instinct of Curiosity. Remember, “Curiosity killed the Cat…”

Expression # 92—I Had More To Say is a must here. The key is to not allow your face to fall into Expression # 2—Guilt.

Females, especially Wives, jump on Guilt like a lion on a limping wildebeest. Expression # 92, however, evokes the Sniffing Response, “What Else Was He Going To Say?”

A caveat here: Never hold Expression # 92 for longer than 5 seconds, or the Sniffing Response will turn into He’s Full of Crap. Count to three, then segue smoothly into # 9—Whatever.

# 9 is powerful, trust me. Be prepared for a snarled “What???”

The Smoove Operator has mastered the Art of the Quick Shift; in this case, # 9 to # 103—Oh? You’re Listening Now?—Quick Shift to # 40—Let Me Lower My Voice, I Don’t Want Them To Hear What I’m About To Say.

The Quick Shift must be practiced every day, preferably while she’s watching The Lifetime Channel. Believe it or not, those soapy tear-jerkers provide for plenty of opportunities for changing facial expression quickly.

The Movie of the Month: My Husband Winks At Our Babysitter: What Does That Mean? is great for training. (Don’t worry, you haven’t missed it. It’s going to come on 5 times this week, at least.)

I noted with satisfaction that both Females had entered into Estrogen Cycle One—“What Is It?” Other than making sure I said something significant that hadn’t occurred to either of them, I was in good shape. They say you can’t herd cats; I say you don’t have to, they do a pretty good job of it all by themselves…..

“Huh?” I said, “Oh, yeah, don’t be so quick to judge. You know this is her first time…” I slurrrrped an oyster, “with a White man. “You know how that is.”

You see, they had been so busy processing the idea that a Swirl Event was taking place less than ten feet away, plus the fact that S.S.S. had decided to let the puppies out for fresh air, that they forgot the idea that they were witnesses to a Woman’s First Time.

Guys, it really doesn’t matter what the first time is. To Females, any First Time is a noteworthy event, to be processed and discussed with each other, as well as every friend possible ad infinitum, ad nauseum. Two cell phones would be getting a workout tonight, trust me.

Oh, I know that goes against everything you’ve been taught all your lives, but not all Black folks can sing. Let me explain…

Way back in slavery times, when we gathered around the front porch in the evening to sing to Massa, there was always one mo’fo’ in the bunch who couldn’t carry a tune, but he wanna stand in front and sing real loud, so Massa can hear him. Rest of the slaves know that if Massa hear his azz, everybody gotta go back in the cotton field and chop, and take a couple’a licks to take with ‘em, so they try to shush him up.

Things aint changed much, in every choir there’s a nigga that can’t sing. Nowhere in the Bible do it say that the Lord closes His eyes, but there’s plenty of spots where He closes His ears. When Sister Brown step up to the mike, the Lord sticks both His finger in His ears, real deep, and says, “Gabriel, please tell Me when Bernice finish that song!”

I know, I know, it’s kinda disconcerting, hearing her wail like that, sounds like a cat getting’ electrocuted, all you’re missing is the sparks and the smoke. One day I’ll tell you why Rev. let her sing, but that’s another story. Anyway, just nod your head like it sound good, but don’t clap too much, she’ll get happy and want to sing another verse…..huh?

Get happy?

I forgot, White people don’t get happy. Well, some of your way-out Pentecostals, you know, those snake-handling mo’fo’s, be dancing with them rattlesnakes in their hands, because Jesus said Christians could take up snakes and no harm would come from it….

I don’t think Jesus meant to pick ‘em up. Just if you happened to run across one, it wouldn’t harm you, but Jesus did not mean, “Go pick one up and take it to church with you and dance and sing with the mo’fo,”….no, He did NOT say that.

Some of you White people always want to take something too far.

Like bungee jumping. You don’t see niggas bungee jumping. As if a nigga gonna hook a rubber band on his azz and jump off a cliff. That’s White boy action, pure and simple.

“Dude, I’m gonna hook a rubber band on my hiney, and jump off this cliff!”

“Go for it, man!”

Any time you hear, “Go for it, man!” it’s a White boy, telling another White boy to do something stupid, trust me.

Back to what I was saying. You people don’t get happy in church. You weep silently, maybe, twist your handkerchief if it get really good to you, but you don’t get funky with your emotions in church.

We do.

Why, you ask?

It’s just a fundamental difference in our respective cultures. White people use church as a place to get it all together, and we use it as a place to let it all hang out. Y’all like quiet, dignified church, but us?

The noisier, the better. Church aint church, unless we cuttin’ up. We jump and holler, because that’s what good church is. So don’t act shocked if somebody get happy and fall out, and they throw a sheet over ‘em. That’s to keep it decent. Some deacons sitting on the front row like to look. White people don’t need sheets, ‘cause aint nobody falling out, and even if they do, y’all fall so dignified

and proper—why y’all do that? Just lean back with your arms folded and fall back, with an “Ahhhhhh!”

With catchers, no less. Somebody standing there ready to catch you and eeasssse yo’ butt to the floor, so you don’t bump nothing on the way down.

Black people?

We fall out, and the rule is, if you hurt yourself, you was faking the Spirit anyway.

So if you get hurt playing with the Spirit, that’s good for your azz. Next time, don’t fake it. We throw a sheet over you, if we can catch you, so nobody can see the rip in your drawers.

This is African-American 101, commonly called Soul 101, a class for White people to learn about Black Culture, where we answer the often unspoken question: Why do Black people act in such a strange fashion?

Huh? You with your hand up?

Whaddya mean, you’ve never asked that question???

That’s right, class, turn and take a look at this one! She is known as what we Black people call “a liar.”

Anybody else wanna shot at it?

I didn’t think so.

Now, where was I?

Feel free to comment, or ask questions, as you see fit, ‘cause that’s the way we roll around here. If and when you comment, I promise not to edit you, because literary freedom works both ways. (Of course, you cannot edit moi, but you knew that.) Enjoy yourself, and invite a friend (preferably White, but Wednesday is Mexican Day. Thursday’s Asian. They make the best hot wings.)

Those of you who remember me from The Daily Advertiser, (the local Lafayette, Louisiana newspaper), know I keep it real. That’s the problem some people over there had with me.

(Shrug.)

Instead of changing identities, and continuing to play in their sandbox, I decided to build my own. Sandbox, that is. This way, I can write what I want, and you can respond in kind.